


Spectre

by BalancedBreakfast (orphan_account)



Category: OFF (Game)
Genre: Blood, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Lots of masochism, M/M, Masochism, PWP, RIP, Sadism, The ‘Worst Thing’™️ I’ve ever written, Violence, Who am I, bad batterie, i wouldn’t say that the violence is super intense tho, this game is a decade old, zacharie is gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-17 17:27:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13663809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/BalancedBreakfast
Summary: The Batter beats up Zacharie. That’s literally it. Don’t try to look for a plot, cause I’ll let you in on a little secret; there is no plot.





	Spectre

**Author's Note:**

> It’s Valentine’s Day, so

_He recognized that laughter that seemed to follow him everywhere, ceaseless._

“Merchant.”

“ _Por_ _favor_ , just call me Zacharie, _mi amigo.“_  The Batter scowled, the masked man behind him leaning back onto his heels, arms crossed loosely.

“Why are you following me,” The Batter asked, his hands unnaturally stiff by his sides. Zacharie chuckled again, and The Batter’s shoulders visibly tensed up.

“I’m not following you, this is simply where I’ve been scripted to appear.” Zacharie arms crossed tighter as his eyes focused on The Batter’s right hand, fingers reaching to tighten around Zacharie’s own merchandise.

( _But had he even had a choice in the matter? Or was he simply destined to sell increasingly more efficient bats to the terse man?_ )

Zacharie’s feet stilled and he heard himself laughing again, though his voice seemed to spike.

“What is _my fair Batter_  getting up to? Off to “purify” the Queen, or am I skipping too far ahead in our little narrative?” Zacharie could practically see the gears turning in The Batter’s head, his hands running over stained metal, deaf. Zacharie sighed from behind his mask.

“Is it too much to ask you to do so much as respond? I suppose you’ve always been a- _how do I put this?_ \- A... A man of few words, so to speak, but if his majesty would be so willing, I think a simple response would be appropri-“ Zacharie felt all the air be stolen from his lungs by The Batter’s practiced swing. After the confusion had fully set in, his ears started ringing, heartbeat audible from all over his body. Finally, pain.

The Batter dragged his bat behind him as he made his way over to Zacharie’s limp form, the latter wincing at the sound of the metal of the bat meeting the metal of the soil.

“Why?” The Batter hardly heard the question underneath the near deafening song, something to the tune of Zacharie’s scraping breaths, but crouched down to answer, arms resting on his knees.

“My goal is to purify all spectres from this forsaken land.”

“I’m not-“ Zacharie let his words fade off into the suffocating neon green of Zone 3, his fingertips curling at nothing. The Batter’s calloused hands grabbed Zacharie’s shirt roughly, lifting him up and over The Batter’s shoulder. Zacharie’s ribs made that kind of appetizing _crunch_ noise, Zacharie’s nails digging into the fabric of The Batter’s uniform.

Zacharie’s mind froze over.

* * *

He awoke to the feeling of skin- hands, rather- and such cold hands they were. His eyes couldn’t seem to open, and his own hands reached up to feel them, but he found that he couldn’t move those either. A strange taste of dark laughter filled his mouth like blood, The Batter’s ice tracing down his chest.

“Your ribs will be fine.” Zacharie’s wrists seemed to come alive with a sharp curve on one side- on the other- handcuffs? He exhaled, then stopped.

“My- M- Where’s my mask?” The Batter paused, fingers pressing into Zacharie’s ribs as he went over his thoughts, the merchant’s eyes watering.

“I took it off. You don’t need it.” Zacharie shifted his legs, those finding mobility, much to his displeasure.

“No, I said- I asked where it is, not-“ His pupils dilated, light filling his eyes as the cloth over them was thrown to the side, the sight of a somewhat disheveled Batter stealing his breath yet sparing his ribs. The Batter’s usual hat was discarded, his ruffled, almost white-blond hair in disarray.

“Oh.” The Batter avoided his gaze, choppy sentences losing any semblance of grace.

“You, uh. You have to stay here. I don’t want- I don’t- I can’t have you getting in my way again.” The Batter’s hands, still taking the weekend off on Zacharie’s chest, tightened, dragging Zacharie’s teeth together, sharp pains muffling his judgement.

“Shit, what- whatcha doing, _amigo_?” The Batter’s hands were at a loss of what to do, hesitantly tracing the stitching at the waist of Zacharie’s pants.

“Didn’t take you for the nervous type. Huh,” Zacharie mumbled. The Batter’s nose wrinkled and his crushing grip made itself known to Zacharie’s hipbones, rough, short fingernails leaving bruises. Zacharie made a high pitched noise, not quite a pained noise, his eyes rolling back, skin suddenly too hot, needing those cold hands everywhere.

“Didn’t take you for the masochist type.”

“R-Really? Mm, I feel like I give off a masochist vibe, I dunno,” Zacharie mused, reveling at the feeling of The Batter moving to stand between his legs.

The Batter wrapped his arms around Zacharie, picking him up and holding him close to his chest before setting him down on the floor, away from the- bed?- he’d been laying on. Picking the blindfold up from where it had been discarded, The Batter retied it, Zacharie shifting in his handcuffs.

“Why are you-“ That familiar scrape of metal on metal drew an involuntary whine from Zacharie, his ears picking up the slack his eyes left behind. When a cold hand touched his face, he leaned into it, breathing quickly.

The Batter let out a satisfied sigh, running his fingers over Zacharie’s lips.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time.”

“Wanted to do what, _mi dueño_?” The Batter chuckled and pulled away.

“This.”

Zacharie knew his question was meaningless, he knew what was to come.  
Then he knew nothing.  
His jaw screamed, metal hitting bone with great force, then his left arm, and his legs, and he was assured with brute force that his stomach wouldn’t be left out.  
He felt blood trickling from his lip to down his neck, and, in an instant, the metal of the bat clanked to the ground, an inhuman tongue hungrily lapping at the red. The Batter’s body was taller, his mouth had more teeth, but blindfolded Zacharie was none the wiser, The Batter’s elongated fingers leaving deep gashes in Zacharie’s back.

Zacharie’s consistent whining and gasping, though quiet compared to The Batter’s _eating_  noises, fell right by his ear, driving the beast in him crazy. Though, he still had his familiar restraint, mind pointing out that there was no guarantee that, should be kill Zacharie, the merchant would “respawn.”

Zacharie, meanwhile, was desperately waiting for The Batter to move closer between his legs, the dull and sharp pains in his body pulling his legs apart, pants in shreds at the hands of The Batter’s long claws.

Finally just moving their bodies closer together, and hardly doing anything else, Zacharie sighed contently, even the more painful cuts and breaks in his body seeming to fizzle away like radio static when five long fingers wrapped around his throat, blindfold being ripped off.

Just before his vision faded to black, Zacharie caught a glimpse of The Batter, with his dinosaur-like-snout, and smiled.

* * *

The Batter, his “human” form restored, cleaned the last of the blood off of Zacharie’s body, setting him neatly into the bed, smoothing the covers over him. Picking up that stained metal bat, he trailed back into the vast, sugary green of Zone 3.

**Author's Note:**

> I didn’t check for mistakes so don’t hassle me. This game is a decade old and I’ve shown no interest in it prior, but trust me I’ve loved it for years, ever since the English release. I don’t know why I wrote this. It’s 2 AM. Goodnight.


End file.
